Lovely, Dark and Deep
by Stratocruiser
Summary: You thought Sunshine Days was the last X File. Not so! Strange happenings on a manmade lake dredge up sad tales of a little town lost to the ages. DRR
1. Chapter 1

**Lovely, Dark and Deep**

**Rated: T**

**Disclaimer: Not my characters. **

**Author's Note: This is take 2 of this story!**

The morning dawned crisp and bright over the Berkshires. June could be this way in the mountains.

Eddie and Baker Showalter had been looking forward to fishing all week. Now that the day was here they were eager for an early start.

"Got the beer, got the bait, got the poles, got the canoe. We're ready, bro," Baker smiled as they pulled up to Knightville Lake. The dam loomed over them, giving both the feeling they were in a deep, quiet canyon. There were only a few cars in the parking lot and all were covered with frost.

"Cold night to camp," Eddie said, teeth chattering, breath coming out in white puffs. The camps were on the other side of the lake where the old road ran through the wilderness.

They sat the canoe in the dark water and began to paddle out to the deep spot. Normally the surface reflected the sky but this morning it was still and inky. Eddie was already in the Slim Jims as the lines went in, making ripples in every direction. "Funny to think of all those ghost stories about this place," he said, watching the bobber for any slight movement and adjusting the brim of his lucky Red Sox ballcap.

"Can't believe everything," Baker frowned. His line caught on a log and he cussed softly, rocking the canoe back and forth. "People are too damn superstitious up in these hills. Knightville's long gone and there's hardly a soul alive who can recall it. That don't stop people from making up stories about it, though. Shit. Hand me my pliers."

Eddie reached over with the pliers. He wanted to pretend there was no such thing as ghosts. God knows he loved a good story and he heard plenty of them in the general store. There was the Cobble Mountain Critter, like a Massachusetts version of Bigfoot. The Old Mansion and its ghost garden. Then the Route 20 Lady, who sits on the guardrail at night where her car went off the road. Eddie drove past the spot sometimes and couldn't bear to look, in case she was waiting...for what he didn't know.

But it was Knightville Dam that topped them all. He read every article about it and even went to the Hampshire County Historical Society to read up on it.

"Hey. If you're not gonna talk, we shoulda brought a radio," said Baker. Eddie realized he'd probably been staring into the water for about five minutes.

"Shut up and pass me the coffee, motormouth," Eddie smiled, hoping his brother didn't see the goosebumps.

Three hours later and not a fish had taken their bait. Most of it ended up snagged on many of the dead trees that lay underwater. The sun was slowly growing hotter in its upward climb. The small thermometer on Baker's keychain sat at 75 and it was only eleven.

"Damn! That was the last of the bobbers! I'm not giving up just because we didn't bring extra floats," Eddie scowled, chopping his line.

Baker snorted in disgust. "Maybe some of the campers have some."

They had floated almost clear to the other shore. There were several tents and canoes at the water's edge. "Hang on," said Eddie. "I'll go check."

Everything was quiet in the camp. Eddie said hello several times and got no reply. He shrugged back at Baker, who was fussing with the remaining cans in the cooler. "I'm going in the forest to see if they're in the biffy or something," Eddie shouted to his brother, who didn't acknowledge.

The forest was cool and green. Birds chirped overhead. There was no sign of anyone along the old roadbed. He thought of all the wagons that passed over the sandy soil to reach the little town. Eddie could almost hear the horses grunting and snorting and the sound of the buckles jingling on the saddle and the wheels crashing over each rock.

He stumbled.

It took a second to spot what had tripped him up. It was a horseshoe. A lucky find. Forgetting about the missing campers, Eddie snagged the horseshoe and turned around, excited to show his brother the find. He ran back down the old road, feeling the weight of it in his hand.

When he reached the shore, there was no sign of Baker or the canoe. "Real funny, asshole! Wait'll you see what I found!" Eddie called. There was no answer, just the slight sound of the water lapping against the rocks. "Hey, Baker!"

A loon called from the other side of the lake and made Eddie jump.

"Not funny, you fuck!"

Something caught his eye among the rocks just down the beach. He picked his way to it and found a white Coleman cooler with a red top, upside down. It was the same kind of cooler they had in the canoe but Eddie shook his head. It was a common color schene, Couldn't be theirs. But when he opened it, out tumbled the still-intact ice and Busch cans he'd packed inside earlier that morning.

"Baker, for chrissake!"

The sun passed overhead, sending glints all over the water. Eddie squinted in their brightness. In the almost blinding glare, he saw something that hadn't been there just a moment before.

The horseshoe dropped out of his hands and he walked towards the water like a man bound for the gallows.

The campers came back from their bird-watching hike at one. The overturned canoe had washed up, along with Eddie Showalter's lucky hat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lovely, Dark and Deep Chapter 2**

Many of the tourist cabins were abandoned. Their doors stood open, welcoming last year's autumn leaves that rustled in the insistent mountain air. To say the others looked rough would have been a bit too harsh. They just seemed careworn; battered by too many harsh winters. All the people staying at the Mountainaire Court seemed the same way.

Monica's cabin was in tattered but serviceable shape. She had to smile at the television. It was one of those cabinet floor models that sat in almost every living room in 1975. The bed was bowed and the bathroom tile cracked. She made a mental note not to go barefoot on the rug, as it was a mashed-down shag that looked suspiciously tan in some parts and off-white in others.

The Westfield River ran almost directly behind the circle of cabins. It wasn't much more than a barren, rocky stream that year. The water made a melancholy sound as it flowed against the rocks and created its own little riffles against the shore. Sun rays splashed against the water and reflected up the steep bank and against the rear window of Monica's cabin. She opened it and leaned out, taking a deep breath. The air wasn't hot and heavy as it had been in South Carolina. Instead, it was very fresh and brisk.

John was standing on one of the banks. The sunlight sparkled around him. He looked sad and preoccupied, like he was looking for something lost. She noticed his hair was getting long and beginning to curl a bit at the ends...something unusual for someone so precise about his appearance. Lately he had been ditching the suit and tie for jeans and a t-shirt, too. That's what he was wearing that June night, slapping mosquitoes and staring sadly at the water.

Monica walked down a narrow path to join him. He didn't move until she was beside him, arms folded, staring at the water bugs skimming the river's surface.

"How's your room?" she asked.

"Pretty scuzzy."

"Mine too," she said, smiling faintly. John's eyes were dark in the twilight, a breathtaking blue so deep it was almost black. Monica ran her fingers through his hair impulsively. He didn't shy away, instead he leaned into her touch and closed his eyes. "Your hair's so long. I didn't know it curled a little."

"If I didn't keep it short, I'd look like Leif Garrett."

Monica studied him for a moment, then burst out laughing. John just rolled his eyes. "I'll get it cut tomorrow," he said, a Cheshire Cat grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, here we are in the middle of nowhere again. A town under a lake. Jesus Christ."

They stepped back a little from each other and John laughed this time. Then he very gently slid his fingertips down her inner arm until they were grasping hands. His palms were calloused from lifting weights.

Monica let her eyes wander to his chest. It was tight and muscular. John was not the type to walk around with his shirt off, but she wished he would.

She wished a lot of things about John. Dreamed a lot of things about him, too. Maybe the detached cabins weren't such a bad thing. In California they had adjoining rooms with flimsy Howard Johnson walls. One night, Monica dreamed they were finally in bed, making love. It felt so real, so real she felt the orgasm like a gunshot rocking through her body. She woke up spent, flushed and wondering what the hell had just happened. The next day, over breakfast, John shook his head.

"I had the strangest dream. You were calling me and beating on a wall," he said, taking a bite of sausage. Monica almost gagged on her coffee. Talk about giving up the ghost. "What do you make of that, Mon?"

"Well, dreams are funny," was all she said, trying not to blush. Yeah, that was pretty easy dream to interpret.

XXXXXX

Oddly, despite the fact the bed felt like a hammock and the night air grew very cold, Monica slept like a baby for the first time in weeks. There was no great explaination for that. Before sleep settled in, she thought of Scully. With both Mulder and William gone now, Scully didn't come around much anymore. A week had passed without the red-haired agent popping up in the basement office. But everything was up in the air. Skinner was nervous, John was morose and Monica was fighting an uphill battle just to keep her head above water. Somehow Scully just got lost in the shuffle.

Monica leaned back into the pillow and thought of John. What was he thinking right now? He loved Scully, but barely mentioned her now. It was a relationship Monica had trouble accepting even a month ago. Everything was so differemt now. Things had narrowed to a pinpoint around John in her life. There was just nowhere for Scully or anyone else to go. They sat on the border, rolling around the periphery.

The shadows seemed to darken. Monica felt a brief jolt of fear, but sleep settled over her like a fog.

XXXXXX

The town of Huntington was quaint but dreary. There was no real Main Street, just a haphazard collection of old and new buildings. The centerpiece of the town was the bridge over the railroad tracks and river. They parked on one side and walked across, stopping in the middle to gaze down at the rushing water.

"Coffins floated here," Monica said suddenly. The image was unshakeable. The water would have been higher, with uprooted trees and swingsets bouncing down its foamy surface. Then the coffins would bob by. "People stood on this bridge and watched them go downstream."

John sucked in a little air and winced. She could tell he was itching to say something but biting his tongue.

"Breakfast," she said, pointing toward a country store.

"Yeah," was all John said. He watched the water flow under the bridge for a moment longer.

There was no one inside The Bridge Store. At first they didn't notice. There was a radio on. Some DJ was chattering about a canoe race. No one was sitting at the counter. When Monica stuck her head in the back room, she found that empty, too. John laid his food near the cash register and started looking around. Other than the radio everything was just too quiet. They hadn't passed any cars that morning. There weren't even any birds singing.

Both cast a sideways glance at each other. They each left a five dollar bill on the cash register, gathered up their breakfasts and practically sprinted to the car. "Is this town underwater or is it just the other way around?" John asked as they drove away. It made very little sense at the time, but things were already shaping up to take them far from reality.

They followed the signs to Knightville Dam, each minute taking them further away from civilization.

"Where the hell is everyone?"

Monica popped a little chocolate donut in her mouth and shook her head. "Beats me. Maybe they're on Mars and we're it," she smiled, trying to get John to do the same.

"Oh, that's a scream, Mon," he said. The came the clincher. "Bad joke."

"John, I have to ask you something and I don't want you read into it too far."

"Shoot."

"Do you think we're in some kind of caesura?" Monica asked, staring at her hands. She couldn't tell him about the shadows growing dark or the dreams she was having with increasing frequency. John shifted uncomfortably, partially answering her question. _He's scared, too._

"They're not splitting us up, if that's what you're asking," he said in a very stubborn way.

"That's not what I'm asking."

John's eyes narrowed but he didn't say another word. They pulled into the dam parking lot and let out surprised breaths. It was jam-packed with cars and people. Monica could make out a great crowd sitting on what looked like a beach, watching others on jet skis and in canoes and in rafts paddle around in circles.

"Well, at least now we know where the town went," she said with a shrug. They got out ofthe car and headed toward the water. Monica felt the place out mentally but could only gather it was a very pretty place, with the lavender mountains off in the distance and a consistent, cooling breeze.

"Be a nice place to fish or camp," John said, putting on his sunglasses. She vaguely remembered that John was nuts about outdoor sports, although the chances to take part were few in their line of work.

A tall man approached them. He was obviously in law enforcement and had a weatherbeathen, genial look. "You must be the FBI. I'm Sheriff Hunnicutt. Guess you're stuck with me until we figure this mess out," he smiled.

He took Monica's hand in his big paw and shook enthusiastically. Some of the beachgoers turned to gawk at the new faces.

"So this was Knightville," John said, giving the people sitting on beach towels a sour look.

"Oh yeah. You'll have to hit the "hysterical" society for the lowdown on the background. But I can give you a thumbnail of what's going on."

Monica squinted across the lake. "So there's only two dead...and they drowned. Others say they can see it, right?"

"I had a report from a Game and Inland Fisheries guy that he was staring at the lake one minute, turned around and when he looked back, the town was sitting here plain as day. He said it wasn't filmy like a mirage or a trick of the light. Now this guy's a buddy of mine and I wouldn't doubt him."

"Well, we're gonna need to chat with him and take a look at everything that was recovered from that canoe. I also want to see pictures of what this place looked like," John said.

"There's only two, and they're back at the historical society in Westfield, about a half-hour from here. Like I said, I wish I could be of more help but I was transferred here about two years ago from California. We're going to clear out all the looky-loos here pretty soon so you can do your investigation. If you run to Westfield now, the Staties and I will have everyone gone by the time you get back."

XXXXX

**Westfield**

Copies of the photographs in hand, John and Monica stepped out on Chestnut Street and into a downtown that looked more than just a little seedy. "Wonder why they chose to flood Knightville and not here?" Monica asked.

"Good question. So now what?"

"I guess we just wait for Brigadoon to rise from the mists."

At least Westfield had plenty of shopping centers. John pulled into one with a camping store and got out, whistling softly.

"John, I thought you were joking about the camping," Monica frowned. She hated camping, mostly due to the fact she had to have a morning shower to wake up completely.

"Just one night. Maybe we can catch it in the early hours of the morning. Besides, sleeping in a tent is better than sleeping in car. We can have a cookout and tell ghost stories," smiled John. No need for ghost stories anymore. Everything they'd seen in the past few months would be enough to even scare the heartiest ghost hunter away.

It was a regular shopping spree. The store only had one tent, which reminded Monica of some cheap TV plot device to get the main characters to sleep together. John bought sleeping bags, citronella candles and a long-handled fork. Monica bought a flashlight. Back at the historical society, the old woman who ran the place was making endless copies of articles pertaining to Knightville. Monica wanted to read them that night.

The drive back to Huntington was pretty but annoyingly long. John sat in the passenger seat, flipping through all the photocopies. Around one curve, Monica slowed to a near-stop. A wave of something hit her, something like sadness. "Hey Mon, what's the problem?" John asked. She could only shake her head and pull off onto the shoulder.

They got out. Monica went to the guardrail and ran her hand along a bump that marred its smooth edge. On the other side, was the river, down a steep bank marked with brambles and raspberry bushes. She couldn't figure out the feeling but it was crushing and smothering. It made her restless, as if she needed to look for something.

She felt a hand on her bank. It was John. The touch was soothing and it brought Monica out of what was a slight trance-like state.

"What is it, Mon? Something wrong here?"

"It's not Knightville. There's something else. It's this place, the atmosphere. Someone got lost or I don't..."

A woman was approaching them from a lawn across the road, watering can in hand. She looked older and slightly stooped over. John led Monica over and was trying to figure out how to explain what they were doing when the lady cut them to the quick.

"I guess you'll want to know what happened there. I'm Elsie Summerall, lived in this house for forty years. I was here the day it happened and dial nine-eleven myself," she said. "Come in and have some cookies I baked this morning."

Before they knew what was going on, John and Monica were inside the spotless white home, sitting amid the old furniture and books. Elsie came in with a tray of tea and cookies.

"I'm sorry, we're actually with the FBI about Knightville but I had this feeling when I saw that bump in the guard rail," Monica mumbled, praying the old lady would understand.

"Nothing to it. There was a terrible accident there about twenty years ago and that's how the ghost lady story started. A bunch of crap, I think. I just wish they'd fix that guardrail. I've been staring at it for decades now. A shame," Elsie frowned, taking a sip of tea.

"What happened?" aslked John, leaning forward.

"Woman died with her three kids in the car. Some drunk fool hit her right in the middle of the day. The kids were okay, to a point, one of them's on the rescue squad but everyone talks about seeing this young lady sitting on the guard rail, waiting for something, like..."

"Absolution," Monica interjected.

"Exactly. I think it's hogwash. But, people need something to talk about."

"Elsie, what do you know about Knightville?"

"It wasn't a popular choice to flood the place out. State versus town, big guy versus little guy. My grandfather was born there. His father ran the butcher shop. Many of the people...my great-grandfather being one of them...had to be forced out at gunpoint. One man even shot a few people as they demolished his house. Can you believe that?"

Elsie bagged up the rest of the cookies and walked them back to the car. "You find out what's going on up there. Personally, I think if the dead could speak, Knightville would just want some recognition. You can't just take away a place and a time. It doesn't happen that easily."

XXXXX

They stopped at Huntington's decaying grocery store for supplies and went back to their cabins to get a change of clothes. Monica sat on the edge of her bed, still reeling slightly from that horrible feeling of loss and dread. It was like being on a plane as it hits a deep pocket of turbulence. She felt hollow in the pit of her stomach.

John walked in and sat beside her. Sometimes he'd laugh at her psychic feelings and call her Miss Cleo. they'd both laugh about it. But now that she was visibly upset and almost shaking, his resolve melted. Monica willingly melted into his arms even though John could offer little comfort. He was so strong and she loved him so much.

"Mon, we'll have a good time tonight. I haven't been camping in God-knows how long. And i'm pretty sure not a damn thing's going to happen in Knightville."

She looked up and tried to smile. He smelled like soap and aftershave and still needed a haircut.

Monica kissed him on the jawline. She rubbed her nose on his stubbly skin. John's arms tightened around her.

They'd share a tent.

Maybe camping wouldn't be that bad.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lovely, Dark and Deep 3**

Sheriff Hunnicutt tipped his hat at the two of them as they pulled in and he pulled out. Two state cops adjusted traffic barriers and hopped into their cruisers, lights flashing. The lake and the dam belonged to John and Monica now, not that either of them wanted it.

A canoe sat moored to the boat landing. The only sound was the water slapping against its sides. The water seemed black like oil. Monica stared into it, wondering about what was beneath its dark surface. She didn't get any real evil feeling from it, just that it was dark and cold in the undercurrents and deep as the sky.

"Let's shove off," John mumbled. He had everything loaded into the canoe and was sitting in it, oar in hand. Monica climbed in and pulled the rope from the landing.

It was exercise, no doubt. She tried not to look at the water as it skimmed beneath them. Instead, she concentrated on John, who seemed happy just to be there paddling as the world floated by. A huge silvery fish jumped straight out of the water alongside them.

"Trout," John smiled. His eyes sparkled. Monica splashed him and they almost tipped over. All the goods stuffed in the boat made it ungainly and hard to balance.

It didn't take long to cross the lake. John pulled them ashore and stretched his arms. Monica tied the canoe to a tree and began unloading as her partner strutted around on the bank, breathing deeply. "You wanted the tent, you set it up," Monica said sweetly, thrusting the fabric and poles at him. As he busied himself with it, Monica went for a walk up the shore. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Her thoughts kept wandering back to that car accident.

She felt connected to it but couldn't say how. Somehow, deep inside her, Monica could see the sun glinting off the windshield and hear the March air rushing in through the car window. Then there was darkness, like the deep water in the middle of the lake.

"Tent's up," John said, startling Monica. "You hungry?'

"John, when the hell am I not?"

Soon the sound of hot dogs sizzling filled the camp. She wasn't terribly hungry but it was nice to see John enjoying himself. Besides, he'd never cooked for her before. The two of them were heavily into take-out. Monica had only used her apartment's oven once, and that was to heat up frozen pizza when John came over to watch the Super Bowl. Cooking seemed to be a nice hobby but there never seemed to be any time or need to indulge in it. Maybe she'd make John dinner one of these days.

They sat eating and watching the water. The sky was turning golden and that reflected on the lake's surface.

"Wonder how Skinner and Scully are doing?" Monica asked, putting her empty plate on the ground.

"Fine, I guess. I haven't seen Scully for a bit but Skinner came by the office before we left. He seemed alright."

Monica caught another vibe from Skinner. He put on a good show but was weary of everything. She caught John staring at her and tried to change her expression. "Hey John, too bad you didn't bring a guitar so you could sing campfire songs," she said with a fake smirk

John got up and grabbed both plates. "Yeah. Maybe you could accompany me with whale sounds," he said.

XXXXXXX

They decided on a walk. It was pleasant to stroll through the cool, pine-scented forest. Everything seemed so insulated from the outside world, and so peaceful. Birds called overhead as they shuffled through the dried pine needles.

"Before Luke died, I was thinking of getting a cabin upstate, just to have a place to go fishing and hiking. I was going to surprise him...had a meeting with a seller scheduled for the week after he died."

John had stopped, hands shoved in pockets. He didn't seem sad, it was like he was just stating fact. Still, Monica's heart ached. She couldn't think of anything to say, so she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tugged his hand out of the fabric. Then, she intertwined her fingers with his. John's hand felt warm against hers and while he didn't say anything, a slow smile spread across his face. They walked like that until it started getting dark.

At dusk the bats swooped through the treetops and the loons began to call. They'd retreated back to their camp chairs to watch the water again. It started to get cooler, so John raked the ashes and threw a few more wrist-sized chunks of wood on the fire.

"This is like 'On Golden Pond'," John mumbled, sort of breaking the romance of the moment.

"You old poop," Monica said, doing the best Katherine Hepburn impression she could muster. She almost said "suck face" but couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Chick flick. Never got into it. My mother liked it," said John, making himself another hot dog.

"You don't talk about your mother much."

He reached for a bun. "Not much to say. She was a housewife, loved my dad, didn't make me wear Red Hen shoes and grew up in northern Florida. She passed in 1986."

Monica didn't know who her real parents were. Her adoptive mother once mentioned that one of the family names may have been Benson, but there wasn't any evidence to back it up.

"Well, I'm turning in," John yawned, stretching. He left Monica staring into the fire, wondering if she'd ever know who she really was.

XXXXXX

CRASH!

"What the hell?"

Monica sat bolt upright as John tried to untangle himself from his sleeping bag. A storm was brewing and they were stuck in a flimsy tent. The waterproof cover was on, but the wind was blowing every which way.

He was wild-eyed. Monica gave him a withering look as lightning illuminated the tent. Their faces were pale in the bright light.

"You okay?" he asked, trying to shear the edge off the panic in his voice. She just nodded. John looked upset and she couldn't tell if it was the storm or something else.

"Be damned if I wasn't dreaming about Knightville. About the water rushing in around it...that's when the thunder woke me up. Gave me a good jolt," John said in a shaky voice.

Monica had been dreaming, too. She was sitting in Elsie Summerall's parlor when the accident happened. She saw it through the window, got up to run outside and the crushed cars weren't there. Monica was just about to go back in when the thunderclap happened.

"I dreamt about that car accident," she sighed, laying back down. "I can't get it out of my head. There's a connection somewhere that I'm not picking up on."

"I dunno," he said uncertainly.

The rain started at once. It came down in a torrent, splattering the tent. Both of them moved to the center, which was blessedly dry. She could feel John's warmth immediately but shivered at his closeness.

"You're cold," he breathed. Monica had opened the side of her sleeping bag. She felt John lean forward and fumble til he found the zippers. He connected them and zipped up the bags so they merged into one huge coccoon.

She felt John's hand on her stomach. He scooted towards her so they were spooning, with his arm wrapped around her middle. The t-shirt she had on was riding up and John's hand rested on her bare skin. He put his cheek on her cheek and Monica tried to calm her frantic breathing.

"You're not so cold anymore," John said, his fingertips caressing her stomach. She couldn't answer. This was everything she dreamed of but they were out of time and place. John's breathing evened out and his breath sounds deepened. His hand relaxed.

It took a long time for Monica to sleep again.

XXXX

John woke up early to find Monica had switched positions in the night. She was on her back, hands at her side like she was lying in a coffin. The sides of the tent were soaked and the condensation from their breath made the inside air slightly humid.

After carefully climbing out so as not to wake her, John found the outside world green and dripping. A mist settled on the lake ready to be burnt off by the sun. Birds called, a dog barked somewhere and an airplane arched overhead, leaving a streamlined contrail.

John had just tried to re-light the fire and turned to find the coffeepot when a peculiar sound stopped him. It was the sound of a screen door slamming. Problem was, there was nothing to hang a screen door on out in the woods. The sound was so unmistakeable.

He turned around slowly and dropped what he had in his hands. Knightville stood before him, a dusty little Sunday morning town. John could see the dust rising off the streets, like the mist on the river.

John walked slowly towards it, knowing this was an impossibility. But it was just so real. He could smell bacon and eggs. Someone was playing a hymn on the piano. Glasses clinked and the sound of a window screeching open made John walk faster.

Monica was dreaming of the accident again when she heard a splash...and what sounded like "Nearer My God To Thee" playing on a rickety piano faintly in the distance.


	4. Chapter 4

She saw John go under and screamed his name.

He didn't respond. There was a long moment where Monica was sure he'd bob back up. It was a joke but John didn't play jokes like that. Not on her.

She ran across the stones and plunged in. The water hit her like needles. The foothold she had was slippery and it was hard to see where he had gone down. When her feet couldn't touch bottom anymore, Monica's entire body felt numb. But she had to reach John.

When she was about three feet from where he disappeared under the lake's surface, he popped up to the top, choking and coughing. It took all her strength to grab him and pull John back toward the shore.

"My God," he said, in a whistling, reedy voice before passing out. Monica fell beside him and shut her eyes as well. It didn't feel like she'd been out for any length of time until someone was pushing her shoulder gently. Slowly, Monica opened her eyes to see a blur. She opened her mouth to talk but no words would form.

"Mon, we've gotta get you ito a change of clothes. Come on," John said. Her eyes cleared and there he was, semi-dry and looking very worried. With one arm around her shoulders and another arounnd her waist, John walked her to the tent and helped her climb in. "I've got some coffee started that should be ready by the time you get changed."

Ten minutes later, she was in dry clothes and cradling a steaming cup of coffee. John sat down next to her on the fallen log that doubled as their camp chair. He seemed preoccupied and kept squinting out at the water.

"You saw it," she said, not accusing or wondering or waving any sort of _I told you so _in his face. John nodded, as a slight breeze rustled the leaves in the forest behind them.

"It was there," he sighed, fumbling with his own cup."I just felt like something...like it..."

Monica waited patiently for him to finish. Instead, he trailed off and tears filled his eyes. She moved closer and pulled him into an embrace.

"I wanted to be there," he said through tears. "I wanted to get away from...these terrible things..."

Monica tightened her grip.

"We just can't go on this way," John said, pulling away. "Something's got to give."

She looked at the ground and exhaled sharply. John got up and walked to the edge of the water again. He picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. There was nothing Monica could say to calm him. There was no absolute guarantee they'd be together next week, next month or next year and the truth of that was something neither of them could face. She moved to his side and watched the ripples from the stone reach out across the water.

"If you know deep in your heart what's going to happen, you have to tell me, Monica. I've doubted you in the past and for that I'm sorry," he said, not looking at her.

"My heart is just as unsure as yours. I wish I knew. The best we can do is keep trying," Monica whispered. "And let the FBI foot the bill when we both go nuts."

John turned and smiled at her. The smile turned into an embrace, a warm hug that lingered as the soft breeze blew and the pines swayed lightly at their very top.

XXXXXXX

Upon returning to their hotel rooms, both headed to the shower. Monica watched the dirt run off her body and spiral down the drain. As the shower filled with mist, her thoughts turned toward Knightville and what John must have seen. A dusty street, wagons, maybe a Model A kicking up dirt and spooking horses. It was almost too much like the "Twilight Zone" episode that centered on Grover's Corners. John had almost jumped from the train, for lack of a better explaination.

She was almost out of the shower when a blinding flash caught between her eyes and momentarily stunned her. A shout rang through the ears and echoed off the interior walls of her brain...

Desperately gripping the side of the top, Monica sank to the floor.

_Sister._

_You have a sister._

_A sister I've met before._

Lying prostrate on the tile, names and faces flashed though her mind until it stopped on one. It was a woman she'd met two weeks ago in New York State. It was a chance meeting in a small upstate town. John's ex-partner Elliot was coming back from an investigation and they all ran into each other at a grocery store. Elliot's partner seemed so familiar but they'd never met. There was some connection they made that Monica didn't realize until now. Her brain was screaming it. That damn sixth sense was screaming it.

Of course, the whole thing could be terribly wrong. It could be a coincidence. Her adoptive family didn't know much about Monica's past, but did know her birth mother was desperate to keep the birth a secret from friends and family. But the eyes...they shared the same eyes...

Monica got up off the floor and got dressed. This was the wrong time to discover familial connections, thanks to the mess they were in at work. She was just about to go out the door when John swung it open.

"A mirage. That's what people are seeing on that lake. A very detailed mirage," he said proudly.

"No."

John looked stunned.

"It's overactive imaginations and maybe some kind of petro-chemical mix in the water and air. Did you see all those paper mills we passed?" Monica said firmly. John just stood there blankly.

"I saw it. It wasn't my imagination. It was real, a real town," he stuttered.

Monica shook her head. She was still thinking about her episode in the bathroom. This happened sometimes and it truly was like a "shine" as Stephen King buffs would understand. But it had never come so clearly to her.

"You look spooked. You okay?"

She shook off the feelings and managed a shaky smile.

Monica went for a drive. The town was quiet and peaceful but storm clouds were gathering in the distance, blocking the sun's rays over the mountains. She found herself back at the spot where the accident happened. She silently walked from lightpole to lightpole to unscientifically measure where the car would have landed. Touching the guardrail, another mental slam buckled her knees and sent her crashing to the macadam.

_Oh God the kids Oh God the kids can't see me Monica the ditch get in the won't understand ditch broken glass gearshiftnotyour timenotyourtime_

Her eyes cleared after a moment. No mention of "sister" that time. Just a confusing, jumbled series of thoughts and smeary lights against the green trees and the sound of the river flowing nearby. And out of the corner of her eye, a figure in white whisped among the tangled blackberry branches on the bank and floated over the road. It disappeared in the ditch on the other side. Elsie Summerall was standing on her sidewalk, looking sadly in Monica's direction. Elsie turned before Monica could say anything and went inside her house.

Monica couldn't really remember driving back to the cabin but John was waiting there, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands over his face.

"John?"

"He's back. Scully called me. Mulder turned up again and we've got to go back tomorrow morning," he mumbled.

"Oh," Monica said, sitting beside him.

"I wish we could have finished here. Toxicology reports came back on Eddie and Baker Showalter. They were extremely drunk...but I wasn't. You know that. I can't account for what I saw, what I heard. It was right there in front of me."

John stared helplessly at the back of his hands. His attention turned to Monica's knees, which were bleeding through the thin material of her jeans. "Jeez, what happened to you? I thought you were just going for a drive," he said.

"I was, but I went back to the accident site. Something happened this afternoon that makes me wonder if I'm just going crazy. I had these flashes. The first time, a voice told me I had a sister. It was that woman we met in New York who worked with your old partner."

John leveled his gaze at Monica, trying not to let his skepticism take over after all he'd seen.

"And I must have tapped into the woman's thoughts before the accident. I heard them so clearly. She thought of me...my name," she sighed. "Maybe she was the one who wanted tell me about my sister."

"Stabler's partner. I could call and get her name when we get back, if we have the time," John said, putting an arm around her.

"No. There won't be any time. That's the thing. There will never be any time for me to meet her or figure out even if there's the slightest possibility we're related."

John looked at her sharply.

"We're out of time, John. When we get back it's Mulder and Dana's time, not ours. All this - "

She waved her arms around.

" - will seem like a dream. It'll be like Knightville...buried under some opaque cloud that will tempt us to return, only we can't."

John lowered his head. He seemed to struggle for words. The heat from his open palm burned through the back of her shirt.

"What if we just didn't go back?" he finally said, giving Monica a desperate, pleading look. "What's say we run off into Canada or something...take the money we've both saved up..build a little house. Just you and me."

"We're in this over our heads. Running off won't solve the problem. They always know how to find people, just like in Democrat Springs," she said, really wanting nothing more than to run off with him.

"I guess you're right. You usually are. But tonight I want to go eat a nice meal and go back out to Knightville, just because it's our time. Dinner's my treat."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Everyone in town recommended The Rapids as the best place around so they climbed a road that ran parallel to the one that took everyone to Knightville. The tables sat right a mountain stream, so they ate while the crisp, cool water bubbled just a few steps away. Heat lightning snapped and popped on the horizon but the mountain air was blessedly cool and dry.

It was the last time they'd sit down to eat a proper meal for the next two hectic weeks. John seemed more relaxed but a bit melacholy.

"I wish they had places like this in DC," he said, drinking the rest of his beer. The small lantern on their table made his eyes glow softly. Monica had a sense of what he looked like twenty years ago, before losing Luke.

She remembered almost losing him. John never knew she watched him die in that hospital. She pulled the plug. She knew he'd never live that way, tied to a computer and unable to eat.

"Mon, you ready to go?"

He caught her daydreaming. The dusk was purple that night and the stars shone down brightly from the heavens. Knightville Dam was quiet, save for the faint sound of campers and canoeists on the other side of the lake. The two of them scrambled to the top of a rocky outcropping that offered a dizzying view of the water and the sky. A low mist covered the water, not unlike what Monica had seen at the accident site.

"I hope you find your sister one day," John said. "I want to be there when you do."

A soft wind blew, rippling the surface of the water. The moon went behind a cloud.

When its muted light returned, Knightville came out of the mist. The soft glow of candles lit up the windows of the shops and homes. Screen doors banged and the faint sound of piano music wafted out of the air. They could hear boots shuffling on the wooden sidewalks. John tried to stand up, but Monica pulled him down again. They shared a smile.

Neither of them would remember how long they sat there, just listening to the quiet sounds of the little town going about its business. But one by one, the candles began to go out.

"They're going to bed," Monica said, in a hushed tone.

John reached for her hand as the last candle was extingushed, leaving the town in darkness.

Knightville slowly faded away and it seemed to Monica nothing existed in the universe beside them and the stars.

It would be weeks before she'd look up at the sky again.

**THE END**

**_Author's Note: This more or less leads right up to the beginning of "The Truth". For what happened after that, check out my story called Tomorrow. _**

_**Thanks for reading!**_


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